Local Shops

The other day a friend of mine and I walked into our local supermarket... well, it's more of a mini-market than anything we would describe as a supermarket in the West, although it has some interesting products in stock. If you're a fan of American candy then you will survive here in Jordan. The country seems to import more carcinogenic, fluorescent junk food than there was at Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. On this particular day, however, what caught our eyes were a few rare bottles of Snapple laid neatly on display in the refrigerated section.

Excited by our discovery we picked up the other essentials and walked to the exit. Bleep, bleep, bleep went the till as the items were scanned and our mouths watered for the exotic drink which stood in line awaiting its turn. I am impressed to see electronic cash registers in these shops, as the last time I was in Jordan most transactions simply went through a cash box and notepad kept under a table. The cashier picked up our chosen item and ran it across his machine, but to his surprise, there was no beep. The little man on his chair looked confused. Why had it not worked? What was he to do? Nearing a state of panic, he tried again and again and again, eagerly hoping to hear the comforting sound that filled his days, but alas, it would not work. With a vague expression he looked at us and said, "You can't have it". We looked at each other and looked at the bottle, wondering why this man would not sell us this mango flavoured drink made from concentrate. "It's not loaded on the system," he explained sadly.

Now, I understand that some larger items may need to be registered before sale, I may even be more understanding if this had been a large supermarket akin to the french hypermarchés that have thousands of customers a day and have strict stock control procedures, but this was just a bottle of juice that we were trying to buy from our local shop. I began to prepare a suggestion for making a note of the sale and adding it to the system later or arguing that, if he really wouldn't sell it, he should remove it from the display. My friend, however, who has lived in Jordan much longer than I have and as such has grown accustomed to the ways of the land, looked at me again in a way that said, 'don't bother, this is Jordan, this is just how it is here'... And with that I knew it was pointless, the drink would never be ours, the shopkeeper, my friend and I had been defeated by technology, and I for one was wishing they still kept a cash box under the table.

Gossip

Amman is tiny and everyone knows everyone. They also know each others grandmas, fathers, second cousins, brothers-in-law and probably know what you had for dinner last night too. It is the only place that I have been where, when you add a new friend on facebook, you find that you have over 50 'mutual friends', all of whom you've seen in the past month. Going out in the evenings, one is guaranteed to see someone that they know, and if you are doing anything conspicuous, you can be sure that someone will be discussing it over coffee next week. For me it's part of the appeal of Jordan, but also part of the problem.

I love the closeness of the community and how generations intermingle and I love bumping into friends unexpectedly (although when it happens so often, can it really be described as unexpected?). What I hate is the way that people talk about each other. The rheotrical question that comes to mind is, "don't they have anything better to do?". Alas, perhaps the explanation for the incessant chattering is inherrent in the question. While I by no means hold women solely responsible, we are known to gossip more than men, and while the situation of employment of women in Jordan is improving, many do not work. Instead these women honourably devote their lives to caring for their families, but of course, while the kids are at school, or once the maid is looking after them, this leaves a great deal of time for those with a penchant for involving themselves in the lives of others to practice the art of busybodying.

Having left the place I used to call home on my journey across the world, I found some space and time to explore different cultures, lifestyles, communities and myself. Backpacking alone gave me the opportunity to express myself according to the morals that I was brought up with, without feeling pressured to be anything that anyone else wanted me to be. So settling now into a society that expects so much requires some patience. Women here are expected to be inconspicuous at all times, but to represent their family in the highest regard when spoken to, and perhaps more importantly, when spoken of.

Indeed, I have often been referred to as 'my father's daughter' in the West, implying that my father and I have a lot in common, as I have certainly inherited some his most dominant characteristics, but here the expression has an entirely different connotation. My actions reflect upon my family which, for a rather impulsive, headstrong, twenty-something woman, means I frequently have to keep myself in check.

That we, as young ladies, are working is not a problem. It has become acceptable for the women of my generation, espescially pre-marriage, to get a job and make use of the education that our families have invested so much in, but who we are out with and where we are going is monitored at all times to ensure that we are not doing anything 'dishonourable'. Of course, this maintains a protective limitation on the misdemeanors of Arab youth which I admire. But while the guardians of society may have good intentions, the raised eyebrows and idle gossip which passes through society like Chinese Whispers can be tiresome. For me, living alone, my Egyptian porter has attempted to assume the role of my honour-keeper. Forget the Spanish Inquisition - they had nothing on Egyptian interrogation. But seriously, is intefering in the lives of female tenants a standard part of a porter's job description?

An Introduction

Being a single woman, living alone in Jordan is certainly not something I'd recommend to the faint-hearted. Having grown up in the West and having become accustomed to the kinds of freedoms that enable simple tasks such as grocery shopping - by which I mean being able to walk down the street in conservative clothing without every third car hooting "pss... pss... ya helloo" - the reality of living in the Middle East has taken some mild acclimatisation on my part, to say the very least.

Don't get me wrong, being of Arab origin and having had some wonderful experiences in this region, I am a huge fan of Arab culture - the fact that I moved here of my own free will stands as testimony of this, but when rather grubby looking men make noises at me that I have only ever made to 'shoo' away stray cats, I do sometimes find myself questioning the sanity of my decision.

The tiresome bureaucracy, the blatant discrimination and the constant feeling that I am being watched does weigh heavily on my spirit, but for all its downfalls, Jordan remains a beautiful country, full of people that genuinely care for one another, who have a set of manners that only exist in the history books of Western civilisation. Where regardless of the hoots and jeers, women will still be given the front seat on the bus and men help to carry their heavy bags.

A woman's honour is everything here, and society stands to protect it. This comes with pros and cons that I am still discovering, but the clear blue skies and palm trees that line the streets bring joy to each day that I spend here, as do the people that make this region so special. The rest, I just need to take with a pinch of zaater.